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Boston Marathon bomb victims struggle with return

JenniferLevitz

BOSTON--For 40 years, Alvaro and Martha Galvis cherished an annual family tradition: cheering on runners at the Boston Marathon finish line.

But they don't plan to visit this year, calling it a "monster" they are unwilling to face.

Both in their 60s, the couple are among the hundreds of people wounded when two bombs exploded on April 15, 2013, in what has been labeled a terrorist attack near the race's finish line. Many are wrestling with a thicket of complicated emotions in deciding whether to return.

Race organizers made a significant effort to invite both those injured and relatives of the dead to this year's April 21 marathon. Many say they plan to attend, in part as a show of defiance and resilience. Others, including the Galvises, fear the event would trigger painful memories.

"We are still not out of the woods," said Mr. Galvis, who lives with his wife in New Hampshire. His shrapnel wounds have healed, but he is in therapy for recurring flashbacks and stress. He said his wife is still unnerved by crowds and loud noises. She recently underwent a 12th surgery on her left hand, where her ring finger was amputated, and is preparing for another.

The twin explosions on what is normally one of Boston's most festive days of the year left three dead and injured more than 260, including at least 16 people who lost limbs. Authorities say 20-year-old Dzhokhar Tsarnaev and his older brother, Tamerlan, placed two crude bombs near the finish line to avenge offenses against Islam. The older brother died days later amid a firefight with police. Federal prosecutors have said they would seek the death penalty if the younger Mr. Tsarnaev is convicted. He has pleaded not guilty.

Some survivors say they have been grappling for months over whether to attend this year's marathon. "It's just overwhelming," said Ryan McMahon, who endured months of recovery for a fractured back and wrists after she fell off grandstand seating during last year's chaos. Early on, the 34-year-old Boston art student assumed she would return. But as the day approaches, Ms. McMahon feels more anxiety. She said she is torn between staying quiet with loved ones or standing at the finish line and feeling acute gratitude for being alive.

Most commemorations will be held on Tuesday, the actual anniversary of the alleged attack, and not on race day itself. Still, that history will inevitably hang heavily over this year's marathon, said Thomas Grilk, executive director of the Boston Athletic Association, which coordinates the event.

Organizers expanded this year's field of runners to 36,000 spots from 27,000 in typical years. They offered entries to thousands of the wounded, first-responders and medical personnel, as well as 2013 participants who weren't allowed to finish.

There are teams running for each of the people killed last year, including one formed by the parents of 8-year-old Martin Richard. The Richard family will attend the marathon to watch their team, which is raising money for a foundation in Martin's name. "It has allowed them to honor their son and has given them purpose out of this tragedy," a family spokesman said.

Mr. Grilk said many people affected by the bombing don't want their marathon traditions to end with a horror, and expect to return.

Denise Spenard at first didn't plan to be one of them. A 47-year-old New Hampshire purchasing director, she still clearly remembers crawling into a restaurant near the finish line, where she had been watching the runners, blood from a shrapnel wound soaking her sweatshirt. The mother of two hid under a table, thinking of her family and fearing a third blast.

Yet, "if I don't go back, they win," she said of the crime's perpetrators. She is running the marathon for the first time this year.

Some survivors say they may attend the pre-race events, and many who were wounded are expected to participate in Tuesday's one-year anniversary tribute. But attending the race itself may be more difficult, particularly for those who sustained permanent injuries, said Deborah Allen, the director of child, adolescent and family health for the city of Boston. "For them, it is not simply a memory that lingers, it's a new reality, and it's a recognition that this was the day of that turning point," she said.

Indeed, Boston resident Roseann Sdoia said it would be hard to face the stark reminder that a year ago at the marathon, she had two legs.

A spectator last year, she lost her lower right leg including the knee in the second explosion. While she is making steady progress, the approaching marathon is so unsettling, Ms. Sdoia has taken a leave of absence from her property-management job. "It's tough, everything is 'marathon,' " she said. "Not a minute goes by that it's not mentioned."

She said she plans to decide on race day whether to go.

"There's a lot of emotion involved," Ms. Sdoia, 46, said on a recent morning after a treadmill workout at Spaulding Rehabilitation Hospital. "I just want it to come and go as quickly as possible."

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